


Sheets

by LuchaDoRa



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Best Friends, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, No Spoilers, Prison Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Season/Series 01, Unless you saw M & S screwing, Wet Dream, in that case you better let me know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuchaDoRa/pseuds/LuchaDoRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael really is a pretty boy. </p><p>But oh no, Sucre just doesn't swing that way. This is prison and he has urges, but for his best friend? </p><p>His surprise is that Michael does too.</p><p> </p><p>- </p><p> </p><p>This fic has also been translated into Russian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first smut -.- I got hyped over the new season starting and had a marathon of Prison Break, so here was the result.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, thank you to my lovely reader Maggie for translating this into Russian! 
> 
> https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5a8876e2000536161f748646/1/Sheets-Laken-

"Done already, Papi? I think that was some sort of record."

 

Michael threw a smirk over his shoulder as he pushed the toilet back into the wall. "There wasn't much to do." He said casually, and began screwing the toilet back into place.

Sucre rolled his eyes. Did this asshole ever let anything get past him? He was hoping for something, maybe a hint to give him an idea of what was actually going on in this escape plan he was allegedly a part of. His thoughts were cut off by the all-too-familiar whistling of a prison guard coming down the hall.

"It's Bellick!" Sucre exclaimed. Michael was only half-way through screwing the toilet. "The sheet's still down."

Michael hid the make-shift spanner down the front of his pants, quickly. "Pull your pants down."

"What?!" Sucre was used to Micheal's sense of humour enough to know he wasn't joking. "W-Why don't you, Fish?!"

"Would you rather have him discover us?" Michael's voice was calm and smooth, tense-free even in the most stressful of times. Micheal punctuated with a questioning raise of the eyebrow and _damn_ , Sucre _had_  to. 

He cursed in Spanish and pulled his pants to his ankles, leaving him exposed in his underwear. The Warden could add ten years to his sentence; this was as far as he was prepared to go.

"Open forty!" Sucre shook his head and said a silent prayer. What was worse really, what this looked like, or ten more years?

Sucre wasn't sure, but Michael Scum-bag Scofield was going to pay for this.

"What's with the sheet? You God-damn cons getting friendly?" Bellick's voice was heard before his face was seen. His hand began lifting the sheet up.

From what the guard could see, Sucre had his pants down and was leaning back on his elbows with his legs dangling off the edge of Scofield's bottom bunk. Michael was stood and leaning forward on the bed-frame with a huge bump on his crotch…

And that was all Bellick wanted to see.

"Dirty bastards!" He yelled, flinching away. "You best take care of that lump before I come around for bed-count, Scofield!"

Both cons held their positions until they heard his footsteps fade away. Sucre was the first to let out a relieved breath; it worked. Michael didn't look completely relieved; he was completely stoic as if he was expecting it to. He also, unlike Fernando, looked completely comfortable about being in this very awkward position. Were there any limits to this man's comfort zone?

He got off Michael's bed and pulled his pants up, and his eyes sub-consciously flickered down to Michael's crotch. It did look like he had a boner. "Nice idea to use the screw, Fish."

He must have glanced a little too long, because Michael threw another smirk.

"Who said it's the screw?"

A blush settled on Sucre, for reasons he wasn't quite sure on.

"Relax. Desperate times call for desperate measures." Michael smiled, trying to lighten the mood as he removed the screw from the front of his pants and quickly finished fixing the toilet in place.

Sucre turned away and pulled the sheet up. He scoffed. "Desperate, huh? You weren't the one who looked like they were getting raped." A low chuckle escaped Michael's throat as he placed the bench screw in its place in the bed slot. "And remind me never ever to touch that thing, Fish."

 

* * *

 

For the next few nights, Michael had been sneaking off into the pipes leaving Sucre in the dark to face the music alone. Luckily the guards that had walked by passed off the lump of pillows as Michael but they weren't stupid and they'd become suspicious eventually. Sucre had worked himself into a cold sweat, hoping to God they wouldn't get caught.

"Wake up!"

By some miracle Sucre had managed to fall asleep, only to be woken by a clanging on metal. Startled, he jumped awake. It took a second before he realized that Michael was still in the tunnels. His heart began beating faster and faster.

"Scofield, show some skin!"

This was it, this was the death of him, he was going to get caught and rot forever in this stinking prison. His heart was pumping so hard he was sure he was going to have a heart-attack.

"What's the problem, boss? I'm trying to sleep here." Michael's voice came from the bottom bunk. The guard moved on, without a word.

Sucre laid frozen for a few seconds before reality came to him and he gathered his thoughts together to form words. "Papi, when did you get back?"

Michael laughed a little. "Around thirty seconds before the guard did. You were sleeping so I tried not to disturb you."

"Oh. You know for a second there, I thought that was my ass."

Michael laughed again, sweet and brief. "Get some sleep, Fernando."

Sucre paused for a moment. Michael never used his first name. It sounded disturbingly pleasant on his tongue. He shuffled on his side and tried to close his eyes for sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

"Should I tie a sheet again?" Sucre asked.

Michael shook his head. "Not yet. I need to check the blueprints first." He took off his shirt to examine his tattoos in the mirror. His eyes fused with sparks like he was calculating something in his head.

Sucre leaned forward towards Michael, trying to see what he could see. They looked like angels and demons locked in battle but he couldn't make out their secret path. Michael caught him staring in the mirror and smiled mischievously. He took a step back and intentionally bumped into him.

"Sorry, Papi!" Sucre quickly blurted out. Michael turned around to face him.

"Getting a little too close for comfort, Sucre?"

"I-I was just looking at your tattoos. I can't understand them though, they're just… patterns." He stammered.

"That's the point of the design. Here." Michael took his hand and placed Sucre's fingers at the top of his chest. "This is the tunnel from our cell. You follow it down," Michael moved Sucre's hand down, just brushing past his slightly hard nipple. "And here's the Warden's office." Michael paused for a moment, taking in Sucre's agitated, but focused features. "And if you keep going down, you can get to the yard through the sewers." Michael let go and Sucre's hand and he traced his hand down his stomach to the waist-band of his pants himself. His fingers hooked into the elastic band slightly. His eyes flicked up to meet Michael's, who was staring intensely.

"Here?" Sucre whispered. Michael nodded slowly and almost arched his back. Sucre noticed Michael's gaze had become a little cloudy. He stepped back a little, nervously. The spark between them was lit and they both knew it. Sucre was positive Michael was going to make a move, but he didn't. He simply bit his lip then moved away from the desk to put his shirt back on. Sucre watched him. It was slow, deliberate, almost a tease.

Shaking his head, Sucre climbed up to the top bunk whilst Michael opened the passage to the tunnels.

"It will be a while before I come back. I have a whole lot to do." With that, Michael closed the toilet behind him, without any eye contact.

Sucre simply nodded as he left. He didn't dare speak because he was sure Michael would hear the edginess in his voice. A million thoughts started creeping around his head. Why did he even think Michael would try anything?

 

* * *

 

 

"Where should I touch you? Here?" Michael whispered. Sucre nodded eagerly as his hands gripped Michael's shoulders. Micheal shifted his fingers lower to the start of Sucre's pubic hair, stroking softly at the thin bristles.

"Turn." That was all Michael had said, but so gruffly, so dominantly, that it forced Sucre to obey. Michael ran his hands over his lower back and around to Sucre's stomach, kissing the nape of his neck. He gripped Sucre's cock, earning a groan from him. Michael pushed him towards the bed as both of them clambered to get on top of one another.

Sucre got on his hands and knees and Michael spanked him hard on the ass, just to show he was the one in control. Michael grabbed Sucre by the hips and brought his mouth to his ass, licking a single, wet stripe upwards. Sucre gasped and writhed, knowing that that was one place the tongue was not meant to go. Michael kept at it, thrusting it in and out as he coated it with saliva. It left Sucre with both pleasure and longing, leaving him with thoughts of what was to come.

Changing tactics, Michael switched from tongue to fingers. It made Sucre grunt with discomfort and Michael licked him again, his finger still inside. He began moving it in and out, curling, adding a finger once he thought he was ready. Once Sucre had adjusted to the thickness, Michael pulled his fingers out and pushed his hard length in. Sucre cried out from pain. It hurt; the saliva was not enough to lubricate him properly but as Michael began rocking his hips and moaning Sucre started moaning too. It felt like he was turning inside out. As Michael sped up, he wrapped a hand around Sucre's cock, thrusting and stroking simultaneously and taking him to unimaginable places.

Sucre woke up on the verge of an orgasm. He was holding his own cock, which he must have freed and been stroking in his sleep. He gasped and let go. He was painfully hard. The erotic dream was still etched out in his brain and he felt a throb begging for touch. It was so wrong, but so hot.

"My God." He whispered a little breathlessly. His hand crept back on its own accord, dragging itself up and down his shaft. "Michael." The name had slipped out before he could stop it. But it was his hand jerking him off, tightening the grip and pumping faster. Sucre's pelvis was bucking erratically, rising in quick pumps to meet his own hand. Heat and pleasure rushed to his groin as he came with a loud groan, hot and sticky, slowing his jerky hips as the orgasm ended.

 

* * *

 

 

Michael started raking up the leaves that covered patches of the driveway. It was cold, even with the gloves and PI uniform he wore.

"Hey, you think you and your pal can keep it down next time? Not all of us are going at it all hours of the night."

Michael turned to face the assailant behind him. It was the inmate living in the cell next to him.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Well it wasn't Bellick moaning your name next door, now was it?"

Michael was confused at first. Most of the night, he was in the tunnels. And Sucre… oh. A dark blush tainted his cheeks as realization came to him. Sucre was moaning his name last night. He wondered if it was because of how close they got earlier that day. Michael had left the cell and went into to the tunnels with both a clouded head and a semi-hard on, which was an incredibly stupid idea. He very nearly got caught. And whilst he was gone… he could imagine Sucre pleasuring himself, bringing himself to the edge with his name on his lips… oh, those lips. It would be a lie if Michael said his thoughts weren't turning him on, and he was never a good liar.

 

"Everything okay, Papi?" Sucre noticed Michael tense up slightly as he spoke.

"Everything is fine."

"Okay," He said. "You went to the infirmary today, right? That doctor's real hot." He hoped that by starting a conversation that the other guys usually talked about, the air wouldn't be as thick as it was.

"She's not my type."

"Oh." Was all he could say. Sucre noticed Michael's gaze had drifted from him to the bars behind him. He looked over his shoulder.

"What, do you want me to tie the sheet?"

Michael looked at him in a strange way. "Yes." He said, as if he was waiting for him to ask that very question. With Michael going into the tunnels so often, the sheet was now in a permanent position above the bars, ready to be pulled down when necessary. Sucre still used the phrase 'tie the sheet' since it was easier. It also turned him on, thinking about all the things they could do whilst that sheet was down.

Once the bars were covered he turned back around to face him. He was ready to give a big speech on not taking too long but he never got the chance. Michael's lips had planted themselves onto his, silencing him completely. He was frozen stiff for a few seconds, but when he felt Michael's sweet mouth moving on his hungrily, he responded just as lustfully.

"God, forgive me." He uttered as he broke away. Michael ripped off Sucre's vest and pants and pushed him onto the bed. Michael gasped.

"You went… commando." His lips wrapped around the slang uncomfortably. The reason Sucre did was because seeing Michael's sleeping, half-naked form in the morning was enough to give him a boner and he knew he was going to end up finishing himself off later on. A blush covered Sucre's cheeks from embarrassment but it only turned Michael on more.

Once he had stripped himself, he clambered next to him on the bed. He curled his hand around Sucre's cock and began stroking it. Sucre was left reeling; sure that he was locked in another fantasy.

"What did I do?"

Sucre was confused. Michael's random question whilst touching him had scrambled his brain.

"What?"

"When you imagined me," He interrupted himself by kissing the tip of Sucre's length. "What did I do?"

Sucre felt heat come to his cheeks. How did he know that? "I-I, you…"

"Come on Fernando, don't get all shy on me." Michael smirked at him as he continued to stroke him, knowing he was getting under his skin.

"You fucked me." he breathed out, lips parted, eyes closed from both embarrassment and anxiousness of Michael's reaction.

Michael stopped stroking him abruptly. Sucre's eyes flicked up when he felt the pleasure stop in his groin. He saw Michael's hard-on grow harder than it was already.

"I-I can't do that, Fernando. We… we don't have any lube, I'll hurt you."

"But you still want to."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Papi-"

Michael silenced him with a kiss. He put his hands on Sucre's shoulders and guided him onto his back. He lined their hips up, their erections pressing together.

"Trust me, Sucre."

He began grinding himself against Sucre, unable to hold back. It brought friction against them both and they shared a slight moan between them. Sucre started to move his own hips upwards and against Michael's, leaving behind a tingling sensation in his groin every time their cocks rubbed.  
They both began bucking their hips faster, and Sucre reached down closed his fist around their cocks. Both of them groaned together as they thrusted their cocks into Sucre's tightly clenched hand. They sped up, nearing their release and with a few more thrusts, Michael came and Sucre followed, moaning curses and each other's names. Their semen gathered on Sucre's stomach but he was in too much bliss to care. Michael lost all the strength from his forearms and collapsed on top of Sucre, smearing cum onto him as well.

Sucre let out a breath. "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I dreaming?"

Michael chuckled and Sucre realized that he really, really liked that sound. "No Fernando, you're not dreaming." He leaned in close to Sucre's ear and began whispering. "But we might have to do it again, just to be sure."

Sucre liked that idea.


End file.
